Dark Time

by Summer Cooper

  Her face was red and splotchy, but I didn’t care, she was still beautiful, even if her makeup was smudged and her face was wet. I ran into the bathroom, wet a facecloth and brought it to her. She took it as I settled on the couch beside her.

  “Your mom didn’t show you love then?” I knew rich women could be cold, but to their own kids? Well, yes, I thought after a moment, I’d seen it at boarding school.

  “No, she was always too busy with my father; love was the nanny’s job. The nanny was busy with my older brothers, and Trent was a handful from the word go. He hated my mother, he hated us, and he hated his dad for making more babies. My entire life I’ve tried to keep the peace between them all. I had to grow up early and play my part. Maybe it’s my own fault.” She let her head fall back and swiped at her face with the cold, damp cloth.

  “So you were always in control, never able to let down your guard, and always ready to take command if you needed to?” I could see it now, why she wanted the relationship we’d had. She’d had a confusing life of total control one moment and none at all the next.

  With me, she’d had a defined relationship, based on the fact that I’d be the one always in command; she wouldn’t have to make any decisions at all. I could see how that would be appealing to her.

  “It was like living on a merry go round or a seesaw, Dylan. I never knew where I’d wake up next, which child I’d have, or which brother I’d be chasing after. The wives tried to help, after they came along, but they’re all so…” she paused to shiver with something I took to be disgust, “…in love.”

  When she’d finished, and the crystal-clear gray of her eyes was on me again, I could see the shiver hadn’t been disgust but sadness. She’d been abandoned all over again, this time by the women who should have worked really hard to make her feel like part of the family, not just another servant. Instead, they’d fallen into the same pattern of trying to play catch up with the brothers. Emily had only been a face, not a real person, to them.

  She took a deep breath, and I could see the way she gathered herself. This must be what she did when life became overwhelming with her family. She’d have a moment to cry and then get on with life. Not a bad way to deal with it, but she shouldn’t have had to do it so often. She smoothed her hair, swiped at her face, and took a deep breath. She gave me a weak smile, and her hands fluttered for a moment as she tried to think of what to say next. I could almost see the moment she decided what she wanted to say. Her eyes became clear once she’d chosen a path, and she looked much calmer.

  “Anyway, if you don’t want to kill me now, I brought this over.” She reached around the edge of the couch and pulled her bag into her lap.

  She dug around inside the contents of the huge, black leather bag and then brought out the folder I’d left the contract in this morning. I could feel a racing thump in my chest and put my hand over the spot. My hands shook a little as I reached for the folder, and that made me snatch the file from her.

  I hadn’t meant to snatch the file away so quickly, but I didn’t want her to see my hands shake like that. I dropped the folder and cast a glance up at her face to see if she’d noticed. That mixed with the way my heart raced made me wonder if something was wrong within me. A symptom of my condition, again? I brushed it aside as nothing but nerves from the last hour of emotional upheaval and opened the file.

  She’d signed it at some point in the day, and I looked down at the words I’d written there. She had virtually been a prisoner her whole life. Was it fair of me to ask her to sign anything like this now? I could understand now why she’d hated the idea of a contract so much. I brushed my hands through my hair and started to speak.

  “Emily?” That’ was when it occurred to me, she’d signed the contract with her real name.

  I looked at her and saw the truth there. She really had planned to tell me about this. Still, the betrayal was there. The emotion wasn’t as intense now, my brain no longer felt as if it was melting, and my heart wasn’t as crushed, but she’d kept a very important secret from me. What was to stop her from doing that again later, if she felt it was important?

  You can’t trust other people. The words danced around in my mind, a memory from my youth, in those dark days after my parents died. The days when I’d withdrawn into myself. I’d done it to try to protect myself from the knowledge that my mother had tried to kill me; that she’d succeeded in killing my father and herself. Trust meant weakness, weakness meant death.

  Trust no one, that had been my motto from that point on. I’d allowed a few people into my life since those dark days, but not many. Now, I was stuck, addicted to a woman that I couldn’t get out of my system. Like a heroin addict who couldn’t stop shooting up, even when their veins had collapsed and their limbs had turned gangrenous, I still couldn’t give her up. Every instinct in me, all the knowledge I’d gained over the years, the protective measures I’d put in place to wall off my heart, said to let her go, that she was trouble; she was a Thompson, get rid of her. My heart, and to an extent, my brain, said the opposite, though.

  “Emily, this is…” I couldn’t continue. I couldn’t admit that she could break me, that she might break me, because that would be weak. The truth of it was there, though, even if I turned away to hide the evidence that had to be on my face.

  I hadn’t cried since I was a child, and I wouldn’t now, but there was something stinging my eyes. I blinked until it passed and hardened my jaw. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. Even though she’d hidden her real identity for very good reasons, I couldn’t let her see me as weak. It was my job to take her control, to give her direction, and to make her life less complicated.

  “Get on your knees, Emily.” I stood and walked away, and she did as I instructed.

  I left her there, pretty as could be, and went into the kitchen to get a drink to cool my throat. She could sit there, with her thighs trembling and her knees aching, until I was ready. Until I could control myself.

  The way I felt right now, calmly out of control, was too contradictory. I might hurt her if I took her into that private room of mine at this moment. I’d make her wait, make her wonder. There was no doubt now, she was mine for as long as I wanted her, but I’d let her sweat it out.

  A smile played at my lips as I went in to fetch the necklaces I’d bought her. I took them into my bedroom and left them on the dresser I’d had brought in for her use. She could take them later. I made sure everything was ready, and then I went into the hallway.

  “Emily, take off your shoes and dress. Leave them beside you,” I called out to her from the doorway. Her eyes shot to mine, and I saw anticipation written on her face. I didn’t think she would ever ask me to take her to my private room, and I wasn’t sure she craved it the way I wanted her to, but she would never tell me no. Mainly, because she needed to have that domination as much as I needed to dominate.

  In the lingerie she’d chosen, dominating her would be more than a pleasure. Tiny black scraps of cloth covered her most intimate areas, and I had to admire her choices for the night ahead. The material enhanced the loveliness of her skin and became wrapping that I would soon enjoy tearing into. Although, it did look like something I’d want to have her in again, so maybe not so much tearing.

  For a moment, as I took in how lovely she looked in her black bra and panties, I saw defiance tighten her jaw. Her eyes flicked to the contract, now in the floor, and then back to me. We’d both signed it now, and she’d agreed to my terms. Acceptance settled onto her features, and she moved. The shoes were kicked off, and the dress was pulled over her head. She folded the dress and set it on top of her shoes, beside of her, as I’d instructed.

  Her chin came up as she moved into position, and I smiled a pleased smile. Her face was blank now, ready for me to fill it with my creations. Lust, pleasure, pain would all take the place of defiance and acceptance. When I chose to give those things to her. “Stay there.”

  I walked out and went into the kitchen. I’d stopped cooking fo
r her when the news came on the small television in the kitchen. I’d turned everything off, so now I’d finish it up. We’d have dinner, and we’d finish this night off. My hands shook again, a slight tremor, as I picked up the knife to move vegetables into the now heated pan.

  That stupid illness again! I’d have to talk to my doctor, have him flown out here or something. This couldn’t carry on.

  I let my worries go and focused on cooking. Playtime had already begun, but I wanted to feed her before I really got the show on the road. She’d need her strength.

  Emily

  An hour later and I was on my knees again. I’d been fed a very lovely dinner, and Dylan had even brought out a nice bottle of red wine to go with it. We’d had a quiet and uneventful dinner. The quiet from his side of the table almost drove me mad, but I knew I had to be patient.

  I’d seen Dylan in odd moods before. He’d usually take me to his private little room and find rather creative ways to make me scream his name. I knew that was where we were headed tonight. I didn’t protest, and I didn’t ask for forgiveness. He would give me that when he was ready and in his own way. Besides, when the end result of his playroom antics meant I’d have a night of mind-blowing pleasure, why would I protest?

  This was his way of coming to terms with his problems, a rather creative way, but still a coping mechanism. If it brought both partners some enjoyment, what was the problem with it? I wiped at my mouth delicately after I brushed my teeth and reapplied my lipstick. The line was perfect, and the color, a deep burgundy that was too dark for me to wear out in public, was one Dylan had chosen. He loved to smear it across my lips in the playroom, and I liked to accommodate him.

  It wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured the night going, and from the rose petals I’d seen strewn over the bed, I knew it wasn’t what he’d had planned either, but fate had decided that tonight would either make or break us. So far, it hadn’t broken us. I didn’t think.

  I let my hair down around my shoulders and opened the bathroom door. He stood there, waiting for me, his head down and his hands in the pockets of a pair of dark gray flannel pajama bottoms. He had on a black tank top that stretched across his muscular chest, and I had to clench my nails into my palms to stop my hands from reaching out to touch his exposed skin. His head came up, and his dark hair fell back away from his eyes.

  I loved his eyes, rimmed with long, thick black eye lashes. They bored into mine like a laser, and I inhaled sharply. I’d seen a look like love there for a second, but then it was gone.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice low and quiet. There was no need for nervousness or to shout. It was only us, and nobody could hear us.

  “I’m ready, sir.” I smiled a dark, enigmatic smile. Almost the smile of an automaton, but not quite. I bowed my head and took his hand as he led me to the playroom.

  The fact that the flower petals did not lead to this room told me that he hadn’t planned the night to take us here, but that was where we were. There was no going back now.

  My eyes darted around the room, to the cuffs embedded in the walls, the barrel he’d sometimes tie me to. The special table that was shaped like an “x” that would allow the dom to spread the arms and legs of the sub or close them tightly with the push of a button. Then there were the implements of pleasurable torture that he had available. Whips, straps, floggers, clamps, and even a variety of plugs for various orifices were all displayed along one wall and on numerous black shelves. This room could bring you pain, pleasure, or a mixture of both.

  Dylan let me stare at the room, left me to wander as he inspected his implements. I stood still and waited for direction. I didn’t question him or ask where he wanted me to go, because I knew he would tell me when he’d decided. He would lead me, as was his duty.

  “Here,” he said after a long wait. My brain had gone quiet, inactive, as I waited, but now it went on alert, and I jumped to answer his demand.

  I went to the barrel and waited for his touch. He would guide me in every move I made from here until we walked out of this room.

  “I will buy you a new pair of these, because I have a feeling I will destroy them tonight.” His fingers came down, a warm caress, as he slid a finger lower on my abdomen, between my skin and the edge of my panties. I held a breath and waited; would he tease me now? Would he touch me there, to prime me for what was to come?

  I felt relief as my bra was unsnapped, and cool air washed over my breasts. He’d removed my bra, at least. He gripped at my breasts for a moment before he removed them and gently pushed me down with a touch between my shoulder blades. “Face down, Emily.”

  I guided my hands to the cuffs along the broad wooden barrel, and he clamped the closures shut. My head was down now, and my feet had left the floor. Each of my ankles was closed in the same kind of fleece-lined cuff, and my capture was complete.

  I heard Dylan move and then saw his knees as his body came into view at my head. The barrel was really quite large, even if it was only half of the thing. The wood had been sanded smooth and varnished so that I wouldn’t get splinters, but it was still a rough texture against my delicate skin.

  “For now, I want your senses attuned to only what you feel, Emily. It’s still odd to call you that, you know. It does seem right, somehow. Emily. I like it. Let’s make you mine all over again now.” He placed a blindfold over my eyes, little more than a scrap of leather that blurred out the light and my view.

  He went further than that. He put a ball in my mouth, and I felt the ties go around my head. I almost protested, the ball always made my jaw sore later, but I held it back. When I felt him push something into my ear, I almost jumped, but I held myself quiet, submissive with a desperate clutch at control. My hearing became muted.

  Until he put the other earplug in.

  Now, I couldn’t hear much of anything at all. I did feel his fingers as they skated down my back, along the curve of my buttock, and down to my thigh. He must have followed the path of his hand because next, I felt the breath of hot air as his lips came down on my skin. Just where my ass and my thigh met.

  My back curled, eager to accept his touch. I knew where this was going, and I wanted him to begin. I needed him to begin.

  I’d come to him as a new woman tonight. I was Emily now, not Stephanie, the waif he’d picked up at an exclusive strip club. I was Emily, a woman who didn’t need his money or his name. I only needed what he could give me. Controlled pleasure, domination of my every thought and feeling, and the ability to submit who I was to someone else for my own gain.

  Dylan was my master, totally now, because I’d given him that power. My toes curled when his lips brushed along my ass. Would he make me come so soon? Or was this just a moment in the long tease? I wanted to move. My hip ached a bit, pressed into the wood, but I endured it. Any movement now could be seen as rebellion, if it wasn’t in response to a touch.

  Dylan moved, and I felt alone. In the darkness, I waited, my brain turned off again, but my body wasn’t. Far from it, in fact. I could feel the juices of my excitement already soaking into my panties, and a heat burned from my nipples and down to somewhere in my lower abdomen. The heat made my nipples tight and achy as they pressed into the hard plane of the wood. My head rested against the barrel, my right cheek pressed into the wood.

  I could see a glare of light along the top edge of the leather over my eyes, but nothing else. I wanted to feel something already, anything, and impatience began to course through me. I controlled it. I controlled my urge to moan out an order to him or a request that he touch me. I clamped down on it the same way I clamped my jaws down on that ball.

  I inhaled and made my toes uncurl. That was when I felt the first slap of something flat and thin. It was a sharp sting against my ass, and I couldn’t help the loud gasp that escaped my throat then. It stung, it itched, it made me so damn wet!

  Then another lash across the other globe of my bottom, and I knew it was the hardened piece of leather, about an inch and half wide, but al
most a foot long. It was designed to leave marks, to make the sub itch and burn with desire at the same time.

  I felt Dylan’s nails rake across my skin, and I knew he was inspecting the welts he’d created. I knew the skin would be pink and angry, a color that tempted him. Again, the explosion of pain, so close to my pussy, and the world tilted. He’d moved the barrel so that my ass would be higher in the air, while my head would be much lower. My feet were flat against the barrel, and the cuffs on my ankles held me in place and kept me from sliding off the surface.

  He struck me again and again, almost a frenzy of blows, and my ass began to burn. Yet, the pain and the itch made my pussy throb and ache for more. I wanted him to hit me there, to make the blows land over my lower lips, to touch against my clit. I wanted to squirm, to draw his attention to my needs, but I knew that would just make him stop.

  I needed so much, but I couldn’t ask for it. Not yet. I still had panties on, but I felt them go now. A slide of metal, a snip, and the delightful black panties fell around one ankle. I’d really liked them, but I could get another pair. For now, my skin was totally bare, and I knew that meant there was more to come.

  A new sensation grabbed my attention as I felt something thick slide into me, an inch at first, and then deeper. It wasn’t Dylan’s cock, I knew that from the coolness of the object, so it must have been one of the dildos he had bought to use on me. I shook a little, but that was from pleasure, not fear.

  Dylan wasn’t the kind of man who was afraid to experiment, obviously, and his goal through his domination of me was to take away my ego, to make me a canvas for his art. His art was giving me pleasure.

  I shuddered when the dildo went in deeper, and his hand came up against my skin. I felt the heat of his skin against my inner thighs, and I moaned as he pushed into me all the way. I wanted him to move it within me, to fuck me with this thick, hard object. It felt good, but I knew what would make it better. His cock in my ass.